


Ghosts

by HappyLeech



Category: Silent Hill, Silent Hill (Video Game Series)
Genre: Blood, Blood and Gore and Violence and this is not a safe fic, Body Horror, Eye Horror, Eye Trauma, F/M, Gore, I call this an experament in how desturbing I can be and I think I did a damn fine job, refrences to suicide, secretly a romance?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-03-09
Updated: 2014-03-09
Packaged: 2018-01-15 03:06:56
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,485
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1288873
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HappyLeech/pseuds/HappyLeech
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>There is a man with no eyes in the hallway.<br/>--<br/>There is a nurse with slashed arms walking the floor<br/>--<br/>Two ghosts encounter each other, and there is blood<br/>--<br/>(Like, lots of it. I...don't know how this got so violent and bloody I just wanted to write ghosties being cute)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Ghosts

**Author's Note:**

> WELL UH  
> I DID A THING AND IT GOT....BLOODY  
> HAHAHAHAHAHAHAAaaaaaa...

There is a man who slouches against her walls, crying out, muttering for help, for his eyes, _“save Eileen save Eileen stop him save Eileen”_ , and she can do nothing to sooth him but climb onto him and drape her hair over the remains of his face. She murmurs to him the best she can behind blood clots and dead tissue, her feelings and life and the sickness in her body rushing out of her mouth like a waterfall, drenching them both. New blood over old dried pain, over a no-longer blue shirt, missing buttons, with gashes and slashes, and she fits her fingers in the holes. He reaches up and traces the outline of her eyes, but she draws back before he can press in the fingers, a warning keen in her throat, teeth bared. He’s tried to take them before, succeeded once when she was heaving out confessions that neither remember, and she sobbed bitterly as he held up the ruined eye. He took the second while she clawed at him, digging her fingernails into the ruined sockets as he poked and prodded her eyelids, muttering until she opened up and let him take the other. Oh, she screamed at him then, partially pain, mostly anger, digging her nails into his sockets, biting at him. He took her hands to his neck, in consolation, and let her squeeze and twist and scratch and sob until she felt flesh tear and veins snap and bones crack. Then she withdrew her fingers from his neck, whining as she felt the new holes with ginger fingers, before leaning forwards and leaning her bloodied face on his shoulder, murmuring murder while he crushed the eyes in his hands. So now she curls into a ball, face away from those grasping fingers, the gaping face, and sobs.

There is a woman who wanders the halls, her arms in slivers that he can no longer see but feels with worn hands and a broken face when she comes to him. While he murmurs apologies and wishes and fears and please, she is all curses and confessions and the blood that does not stop from her mouth and flows until they are almost buoyant in the hall where she has found him, where she has collapsed onto him with sobs. The hair, the only thing of her that does not stink of blood and sin and does not feel as if it has been drenched in the syrupy copper that the rest of her has been, is his favourite thing. He bites at it, tangles his fingers in it, wraps her arms in it, fixes them, until she screeches at him and bites and coughs and digs her fingers into his ribs and pulls at them. They roll then, fighting as she tries to stop him and he rolls her onto her front, sits on her back and plays with the hair as she sobs and curses and bubbles appear in the blood beneath them. But why should he care, when there is hair that smells and feels like sunlight and warm days, hair that it good and beautiful, hair that does not break when pulled or bitten or twisted into knots. She makes a keening noise, and rolls violently and then it is her sitting on him, furious fingers in his eye sockets, pulling at the bone, tearing the skin. He only laughs like she has told him some great joke, and pulls on her hair.

There is a man in the hospital, a man who steps through the doors holding his side and swearing, and they follow him as he looks, disgusted, at the blood that runs how the halls, at the doors crusted with tears and gore. The broken man whispers that he wants the eyes, to scratch and wreck and ruin, while the broken woman whispers of the doctor, _“doctordoctorwhydidyoucomeBACK”_ , and she clenches fists that aim to ruin. They tricks him, she lays on the stairs, sobbing and wailing, pleading for someone, _“ANYONEplease”_ , to save her, and as the man crouches to help her, she lashes out. The man stumbles back, swearing and yelling at the sight of her face, dark streams of gore coming from her eyes, mouth, nose, and the broken man reaches out. As he pulls the living back, she rants and raves as well as she can, scratching at him screaming and bemoaning her death as she moves forwards and wraps slick hands around his neck, choking him, her nails digging into his neck. The man in the hospital who wandered the halls is on his back now, screaming nothing as broken woman sits on him, clawing and screeching, as the broken man reclaims what was taken from his face. While the broken woman tears him to pieces, skin and muscle tangled in her fingers, her arm wounds oozing onto him, the broken man peels and rips his fill the wandering man, the pair destroying him until he cannot breath and shudders. He dies missing all he is, all he was, eyes torn out and tongue mangled, and the broken woman turns to the broken man, and helps him paste back a look of normalcy.

He finds her in the room, the one of her bones, and he helps her put herself back together while she sings out hatred and slander, blood from her eyes this day or night or evening, knowing that he should not be there. Then she turns to him and she grabs his face, fingernails in the remains of his cheeks, and she leans forwards, to trace the missing flesh the exposed skull, scraping his bones with her nails and she giggles into his mouth, a pained, angry, hate filled giggle. He has bunches of her hair in his hands now, again, and he can tell that it’s golden and sunshine and pure not like him not like Eileen not like the people he killed and he pulls it. She bites him hard then, giggles turning to growls, and he snarls, winding her hair tighter into his grasp as she slams his head into the wall, the floor, as she pins him down, screaming at him of betrayal of illness of “ _donotTOUCHmedoctor”_ until she is no longer biting or screaming or begging him to stop. When she slumps to the side and draws in on herself her arms oozing and sobbing and he knows she’s choking on things she does not want to remember, he leaves because she will tear him apart and even the dead know when to quit. She finds him later, crawling up behind him and dragging him down so she can gurgle warnings and threats and promises of never, never again until he’s bleeding with her and knows not to follow through the doors to the darkness and pain beneath the hospital.

There is another ghost in the hospital, but he is of no interest to her for he does not howl or plead or mourn his death and she only cares for the one who will fight like he is not willing to die again, because he knows that she needs someone to tear at and cry for-and then she is up against the walls, her wrists leaving streaks of gore and streams of blood, and thick black old blood leaving dark tears against the red as she falls slumping on the ground. She snarls for her ghost, the one who understands, but the new ghost has followed her and he stands talking down to her, like him like he always did, and she glares from behind untouched hair and red stained eyes at the single wound, the bloodless face that’s watching her. She doesn’t like it, doesn’t like him and how he towers, and she sobs out _“wrong”_ behind a dribble of blood, and swipes at him in anger and fear. He is not like the broken ghost who sits with her and holds her, uses her hair ties her arms back when she does not want him to, he is not a ghost she likes. He is one she wants to tear at and rip apart in memories and in anger and she howls curses and condemnations as she moves to him. 

He pulls himself from the wall when he hears her growls, through floors and walls and rooms he hears her, knows she has found someone to hate, and he goes to her in hopes it is another man for him to ruin with her, but when he arrives he hears as another ghost, the one that killed the man who lived there before him pushes her back into the wall, and he lets out a whine of anger. The ghost the bad one the killer, sounds annoyed and angry and he mutters many things under his breath as he turns to leave, he knows this killer ghost is leaving, and so he reaches out, falls against him, holds him there for her. _“My eyes why can’t I see? is Eileen…?”_ he whispers to the ghost, and the other ghost growls and then she growls, she doesn’t like his face, and she pulls herself up and over, ending near him and she tries to pull herself to tear and rip, he can feel the fresh spatter as she moves past. But, the fight is short and he finds her alone after, crying about her doctor the _“badbadbadbadBADWRONGDOCTORnoplease”_ while the bad ghost the killer the one who killed the last man to own the place leaves swearing and cursing and wondering why the broken man is there.

There is a ghost with hair dirtier than hers looking for the one she envelops and coos to and attacks and screams at, but she does not attack him yet. He is bad and wrong and dangerous like the doctor but he doesn’t even look at her twice while she follows him, muttering things, coughing, grabbing at his coat to pull him back. “ _heTOLDmeaboutyoubadbadbadyoutookhisEYESsohetriestotakeminebadbadbad”_ she sings as she walks up beside the ghost who is like the doctor but has not touched her, and he spins to her angry or annoyed or scared or confused and she giggles out clots and bright red mucus onto his shoes. Then he touches her, her shoulder her neck her thigh, talks to her, dumb bitch whore, and she screeches and swipes her hand across his face, fearful and pained and enraged. He attacks right back, sending her against the wall, when she glares at him, spits in his face, “ _cant’wreckwhat’sRUINEDdoctor_ ”, and starts to laugh hysterically as he then drops her and walks away. He leaves soon after, cursing at her and her hospital as he passes, as he slams the door, and only then does the broken man exit to play with her hair, to pull her hands from tearing into her arms, to keep her from hurting him.

There is a girl, with blonde hair and a nervous laugh, and he watches with no eyes as she walks into the hospital, jumping as the doors slam behind her, as she looks to him and gasps. _“Is she safe? Eileen? I cannot tell…did we stop him?”_ he murmurs, hopeful and quiet, head tilted, and the girl jumps back he hears, gasps, runs past him. “ _Watch out…she’ll try and tear you to pieces…Wear you like a costume,_ ” he breathes, feeling along the wall behind her, knowing she does not hear him, waiting for her to come out of her hiding in the basement where he does not go because she will hold him down and peel back the flesh and scrape his skull clean while she curses the man and laments the girl. There is a clatter, a scream, and he rounds the corner with a sigh, a gasping breath not needed, and he can hear her on the floor in front of the girl, a hand extended, reaching for her, pleading as she mouths words of apologies, forgive me’s and I wasn’t strong enough’s. She is crying sobbing cursing and he drops near her, pulling at her while the girl screams and sobs and runs away, leaving the nurse to sob at the ground and the broken man to wind himself in her hair as he wipes away the blood. 

There is a man slumped against the wall by the elevator, and she comes to him in angry and sorrow and fear and forgiveness, slumping down onto him and pressing an ear to where a heart once was once beat once cared for a living girl. She takes a hand and kisses each finger a bloody red, whispering her secrets the things she does not tell any others, like the badWRONGghost who returned or the one who hugs her and sits and talks to he- the quiet one with the quiet rage who is like steam and smoke, and when she runs dry of secrets she kisses her fears into him of lingering touches and smacks and poor little girls wasting away in the basement. She lets him tie her arms in her hair, lets him truss her up until she bleeds not from her arms but she has to curl in to feel safe, to not feel like there is someone holding her down. She lets him hold her and play with the hair, she lets him kiss and bit at her lips, but then he turns to her to press against her and she growls a warning. She releases her arms from their cage of hair, presses him back and he grabs her hard and bites deep, tries to kick when he presses her down, and cries when he smooths back her hair, releasing her.

There is a woman slumped in the stairwell, tracing a pattern in blood on the wall and he falls at her feet, muttering nonsense words names places dates marks from school parents deaths girlfriends birthdays, and she pushes him away. He pulls himself up to her, and she bites him, before turning to trace a waterfall onto his face, lumps and hair streaming into the hollows of his body as she bleeds and sings to him, tracing the numbers left by a man, singing them out to him until her words become gibberish and he no longer gasps each time she mumbles out twenty one. To his hands she gives her hair, her face, and he smiles the best a ruined face can as he remembers sunshine and life and he knows that she was a good girl because good girls get sunshine hair, good girls get killed first. She leaves him kisses on his face and nail marks on his arms and sighs in his ears, and he does nothing but sing praises and fears of another woman. But she is a good girl, for she does not care.

_“noFAIRruderudedonotactlikethedoctororIwillSCREAMlikeyouarethedoctor”_

_“not Eileen…she’s gone…found you…”_

**Author's Note:**

> (in case you aren't sure, if you even get this far, the people they encounter are Random Dude, Jimmy Stone (the first of the Ten Hearts), Walter, and Heather. And there's a mention of George Rosten (the sixth of the Ten Hearts)(It makes sense to me) )


End file.
